


Strange Little Bugger

by Fyre



Series: His Master's Son [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, An Inward Treasure, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 07:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Goldacre found women difficult creatures. That was what led him to be in the grounds of his father's house in the rain with half a bottle of claret. Fortunately, his father's groundskeeper found him and took him to shelter.</p><p>A missing scene set somewhere between chapter 16 and chapter 18 of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/409866/chapters/679810">An Inward treasure</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Little Bugger

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly do not know where this pairing came from. Bay was just there and fabulous, and then Graham showed up as possibly a threat and next thing I know...
> 
> Well, yes. Be warned. This is one of the naughtiest things I have ever written.

Bellamy Goldacre found women difficult creatures.

As lovely as Isabelle was and as dear and beloved as Grandmama was, they were all claws and barbs behind sweet and charming smiles. Men were so much simpler. They would call a rogue a rogue and be done with it. It made his head quite sore to try and make sense of what was going unsaid when women talked to one another. It was never as simple as being direct. La! That would be common and civil sense, and it seemed women did not approve of such notions.

He took another mouthful of the wine.

It was uncivilised to drink directly from the bottle, but one could not take one of father's fine glasses out into the forest.

Of course, one should technically not be out in the forest when it seemed like all the angels in heaven were relieving themselves on the world at large. All the same, rather than be caught up in feminine concourse, it felt better to hide in the woods for a time. Being out in the rain was improved by being out with a very fine bottle of claret.

Bellamy smacked his lips.

"Damn!" he declared to the trees overhead. 

He could feel the raindrops that had squeezed between the leaves and that were dropping on his head. It was not as heavy as it might be, but even sitting under the broad branches of his favourite oak was not ample shelter and his clothing was quite damp.

He took another mouthful of wine.

"Damn damn damn," he tried again, then laughed.

A call from nearby made him frown and squint around. There was a bobbing light coming closer and he struggled to his feet, leaning against the tree trunk. 

"Who's there?" he called. "I'll have you know I have every right to be here, dem your hide!"

"I ken that, Master Bay."

Bellamy balanced himself carefully on a tree root and peered out into the darkness. Of course, it would be him. The only person who would be wandering the woods. The silly man who was the best and dearest friend he had ever had throughout his youth. "Rab?"

The lantern came closer and Rab Graham raised a hand in salutation. He was wearing a hooded coat that looked more like something a fisherman would wear, the water sluicing down the oiled leather. "What are you doing out here, Master Bay? You're soaked to the skin."

Bellamy pulled a face. "Women, Rab," he declared, slouching against the tree trunk. "I had to be out of the house."

The other man snorted in amusement. "Your new mother is a ferocious wee hen, isn't she?" He caught Bellamy by the arm, hauling him upright. "Come on, lad. We'll get you to the lodge and you can be safe from the womenfolk for a wee while."

"You're a good man, Rab Graham," Bellamy declared, leaning against him. 

Graham laughed, as they picked their way back towards the lodge. "From time to time, aye," he agreed.

It took them a little time to reach the lodge, and by the time they reached there, Bellamy's head was already beginning to clear from the cold and the damp. He could not have been more grateful that the small cottage was warmed already by a fire in the grate.

It was a tiny building, barely more than a large, stone-floored room. It reeked of leather and hide, and the furs that were spread over the bed. There was even a thick furred rug on the floor before the hearth, edged by one aged chair and a footstool. Tools and weapons were hung on pegs and nails on any available space on the walls.

Graham shed his waterproof coat, hanging it on a spike on the back of the sturdy door. "You should get out of the dampest of your clothes," he said. "Master Jamie would string me up if I let you catch your death of cold."

Bellamy snorted. "Father is all bark and no bite," he said, but all the same, he moved closer to the fire, peeling off his damp coat and stepping out of mud-matted shoes. He could barely see the buckles anymore, and knew that his boy would weep at the thought of scraping them clean.

He yelped in indignation, when Graham tossed a ragged cloth over his head and towelled his sodden hair roughly.

"Hush your moaning, lad," Graham said with a laugh. "I would prefer you didnae drip all over the floor, if it's all the same with you."

Bellamy gave him a reproachful look, snatching the coarse cloth to rub at his face as well. "You could have said," he said.

"Aye, I could," Graham agreed cheerfully. "But that would be no fun at all." He nudged Bellamy closer to the fire. "Stockings off, and warm your feet. You'll get a chill otherwise." 

Bellamy sat down in the broad-backed chair, peeling his stockings off and sinking his feet into the furs on the floor. "You truly do not mind me taking your time?" he asked, rising to drape the mud-spattered damp stockings over the mantlepiece.

"No in the least," Graham said, hauling his heavy boots off and setting them on a ledge by the door. "It gives me cause to stay out of the rain for the night." He flashed a grin that lit his face, and Bellamy could not help but stare at him. The demmed scruffy ruffian had such a gleam in his eye and warmth in his manner. "I'm no so wild that I don't mind a night in the warm."

"Yes," Bellamy said, trying to sort through his drink-addled mind. "Warm is good."

Graham walked over to him, grabbing Bellamy's shoulders, tugging at his damp waistcoat.

"What are you doing?" Bellamy protested in a squeak.

The older man stripped off Bellamy's heavy waistcoat, casting it over the back of the chair. "Keeping you from a chill, you silly bugger," Graham replied. "Now, sit your arse down on the rug and get yourself warm."

Bellamy pulled an undignified face, but sprawled down onto the rug, snatching the poker to stir the flames. "You're being very inappropriate," he complained, propping his heels against the edge of the hearth, the heat of the flames warming the soles of his feet.

"You'd hae a fit if I was anything but that which I am," Graham replied, raking through a chest that stood beside the wall. He pulled out a brown bottle and a couple of chipped cups, then returned to the fireplace and sat down on the furs at Bellamy's side. "If you want to drink yourself daft, we'll do it the right way."

Bellamy peered at the bottle. "Is that your Christmas brew?"

Graham looked at it. "Aye," he said. "Master Jamie gives us a bottle a year. I dinnae drink all that much of it. It's worth keeping for special occasions."

Bellamy looked at him hopefully. "You count this a special occasion?"

Graham poured them a measure of the whisky each. "I dinnae have guests often, Master Bay," he said, holding out a cup to Bellamy, "so aye. This is a special enough occasion."

Bellamy took the cup, and tried to ignore the pleasant shiver that ran through him when his fingers brushed against Graham's rougher ones. He could hardly deny that Graham drew his eye. To do so would be an outright lie. But the eye was all he could draw. Bellamy was adamant about that, for it would be pure selfishness to ask anything more of the man.

He took a mouthful of the amber liquid, coughing as it burned down the back of his throat. "By God..." he gasped.

Graham laughed, knocking back his own glass in one swift gulp. A single drop trickle from the corner of his lips, and Bellamy watched it, wondering what it might taste like, caught on the dark stubbled thicket coating Graham's chin. 

"It's a rare vintage," the man said, holding out the bottle to refill Bellamy's cup. "Master Jamie doesn't scrimp."

"Only when it comes to decorating the house in London," Bellamy said, then frowned at himself. A man who lived in one room would surely not care less about how many rooms had not been redecorated in the family's fourth house.

Graham refilled his own cup. "I think he refuses you that for his own amusement," he said, making Bellamy look at him, startled. 

"What?"

Graham leaned closer and the tiny glittering drop of whisky was still there, flickering and tangled in his beard by the firelight. "Your father likes to see you get all het up," he confided. "You're too calm by far. Do you no wonder at his enjoyment when you row?"

"Het up?" Bellamy echoed. The drop was glinting. Like a diamond in a sweep's ear. He couldn't have stopped staring at it if he tried.

"He worries you dinnae care about anything but fashion," Graham replied, setting aside the bottle. "I ken you do, but you know your father. He likes to see you care, and if he must rile you, he will."

Bellamy nodded, dragging his eyes to Graham's. "Aye," he said, his voice hoarse. It was the whisky. Only the whisky. "I care about many things. Father. Grandmama. Mama." He tossed back the next round of whisky, shuddering as it burned, and coarsened his voice to little more than a growl. "You."

Graham looked at him in surprise. "That's kind of you, Master Bay."

Bellamy almost laughed aloud. Kindness? God above, it was nothing to do with kindness. There were too many nights to count when he had imagined himself with the older man. Almost as soon as he realised the inclination of his desires had his thoughts turned to Graham. There were dozens of handsome men in his coterie in town, but none even came close to the warm and genuine and smiling hairy ruffian currently sat by his side by the fire. 

"Outside of my family," he said abruptly, "you are the one I like best."

It might have been the fire's glow, but he could swear that Graham's cheeks darkened. "Och, Master Bay," he said with a dismissive shake of his head. "I'm but your groundsman. There's nothing important about one such as me."

Bellamy leaned closer, catching Graham's face in his hand. The stubble was as coarse as he thought it would have been, and yet softer, and he leaned closer to look him in the eyes. "You are far more important than you realise," he said heatedly, his voice low and tense.

Graham was staring at him, but Bellamy's mind was racing. He had not yet pulled away. He had not pushed Bellamy away. He did not sneer at him in contempt. The sparking drops of whisky were still there and gleaming. Bellamy lowered his head, brushed his lips over them, catching the tiny, shimmering drops.

"Master Bay," Graham said quietly.

Bellamy pulled back, staring at him. "By God," he whispered, knowing it was too late to stopper his heart or stifle his tongue, "if I could have you for but one night, Rab..."

Graham rose then, picking up the bottle and returning to the chest beside the wall. Bellamy's heart thudded dully against his ribs. If Rab felt that the drink was no longer needed, then he was no doubt going to be sent back into the rain, away from this warm, safe, welcoming hearth.

At least, he thought bleakly, he had stolen a kiss before he was turned away.

"I should not have, Rab," he said quietly, getting to his feet. "Forget that I said anything. I know it is considered a grave sin."

Graham put the bottle of whisky away in the chest and closed the lid. He stood there for a moment, his hands still resting on rough wood. "Do you know what they call me in the village, Bay?" he asked, and Bellamy looked up, startled. Graham had never simply called him by name. "They call me thief. They call me bastard. They call me whoreson." He turned to face Bellamy, his lips curving. "I have committed so many sins in the good book. What would one more be?"

Bellamy stared at him, uncertain if he had misheard. "Rab?"

"You would have me, Bay?" he said, spreading his hands. "Have me."

The cup in Bay’s hand shook so much in his hand that he feared he might drop it. “I… Rab, what…”

The other man crossed the floor in three steps, taking him by the shoulders, and pressed his mouth to Bellamy’s. Bellamy’s mouth opened to gasp, and instead, Rab was kissing him, all tongue and teeth and roughness that made his legs tremble. One hand slid from his shoulder, deep into his hair, holding him fast and Rab bit down on his lower lip, tugged. 

The cup fell from his hand. He heard it crack, but it could not be said that he cared, his hands grasping at Rab’s sides, pulling him closer and harder. Even through his coarse shirt, the heat was palpable and Bellamy could feel the thunder of Rab’s heart as well as his own.

“Rab,” he gasped out, his mind spinning. The drink was not helping. This was not at all as he intended. This was not at all what he expected. This was… this was…

He brought his hand up between them and pulled Rab’s mouth back down on his, and this time, his tongue delved greedily against Rab’s. He wasn’t innocent, not entirely. There had been fumbles, and awkward kisses, and lads being lads at school, there were things that were never mentioned at dinner parties.

Rab made a low, approving sound, almost a growl, and Bellamy could swear his knees were quivering like a milkmaid’s. It only grew worse when Rab pushed a foot between his, nudging his legs apart, and leaned closer and suddenly, there was a broad thigh pressed between his legs, and the heat of it made him tear his mouth from the delight that was Rab’s. He stared, panting and breathless, at the other man.

“Randy bastard,” Rab said, his voice thicker than usual. 

His fingers curled in Bellamy’s hair, blunt nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and his other hand moved slowly up and down on Bellamy’s arm, the drag of the damp shirt making fresh prickles of heat rush through Bellamy’s body.

“What the devil are we doing?” Bellamy demanded breathlessly.

Rab chuckled and there was a dirtiness to the sound that sent a spike of heat right to Bellamy’s groin, his hips twitching. Rab’s eyes danced and his thigh moved, and pressed, and the spike of heat was the least of things on Bellamy’s mind.

“We,” Rab said, kissing and biting and scraping his teeth along Bellamy’s jaw, down to his throat, “are doing what you wanted.” Bellamy almost whimpered out loud as Rab dragged his cravat off with his teeth, then worried at his throat. “We,” Rab breathed against the damp skin, “are fornicating.”

It sounded even filthier than it did in Church and Bellamy twisted his fist into Rab’s hair, his hips pushing forward, grinding him mercilessly against Rab’s thigh. It was getting harder to breathe, and it only got worse when Rab shifted his weight and Bellamy felt the press of Rab’s body to his, and by God, if they weren’t as wanton as one another.

Bellamy stared into nothing, then pulled his head back up to kiss him again. Their hands seemed to move of their own accord. Bellamy tugged at the stays of Rab’s shirt, tearing them free and he almost moaned aloud into Rab’s mouth, when one broad-palmed hand slid down his back and grasped his arse through his still-damp breeches.

Rab sucked on his lower lip, but drew back as his hand slipped between them. Bellamy could not look away from him, could not be sure he even wanted to, when Rab’s hot, broad hand pressed against the front of his breeches. One side of Rab’s mouth curved up, knowing and, dem the man, proud of what he had caused.

“Rab,” Bellamy clutched at his shoulder with one hand, his side with the other. “Rab…”

Rab’s mouth brushed over his, not enough to kiss, not enough to claim, but Bellamy could feel the chuckle on his skin, the graze of the other man’s stubbled flesh on his own. Rab’s eyes were dark, gleaming by the firelight, and his mouth turned a smile against Bellamy’s.

Bellamy heard a faint mewling sound escape his throat when the rough, hot hand slid between fabric and flesh, and touched him truly. It should have mortified him how he pawed and whimpered, but by God, it felt to demmed marvellous to think of.

“What’s your liking, Bay?” The growled words were like fire in his veins. 

Bellamy pressed against Rab’s hand, panting. “I-I-I don’t know…”

He knew. Of course he did. He had imagined it a thousand times and more. Had seen the Greek statues that they tried to hide in museums. Knew the right people to be shown the collections that would scandalise any virtuous gentleman, and by God, he knew exactly what it was that craved, and that he should never ever know about.

Rab’s tongue dove between his lips again, thrusting, and God above, if Bellamy’s mind had not been provoked before, it certainly was becoming so. His hips moved in time with the thrust and press of Rab’s tongue, and he tasted of whisky and wildness. 

Bellamy bunched his fist into Rab’s hair again, jerking his head back and gulping in ragged breaths. “I know…” he panted out. “I know…”

“Ask, Bay,” Rab breathed. His lips were swollen and ruddy and not for the first time, he put Bellamy in mind of a half-starved wolf. “What’s your liking?”

Bellamy’s fingers twisted into his hair, the fingers of his other hand sliding over Rab’s leather covered hip. “I want you to fuck me,” he breathed out, the very air trembling as he spoke. “Sodomise me. Bugger me. Whatever man might call it, I want it done.” He stared at Rab intently. “And I want no gentleness from you, Rab. I only want you.”

Rab, for only a moment, looked startled.

Then he was pushing Bellamy back, a step at a time, his hand slipping from Bellamy’s breeches. Bellamy protested the loss, only to have his lips devoured again, and this time, Rab’s kiss was punishing and merciless, and Bellamy shivered as the very air was drawn from his lungs.

He clung to the back of Rab’s neck, even as Rab pushed him away. 

“Kneel,” Rab whispered hoarsely, his own voice thickened with want.

They were by the bed, but this was not a night for tender passions, nor gentle love-making, and Bellamy fell heavily onto his knees on the stone of the floor. At once, Rab was behind him, kneeling at his back, pressed against him, broad and warm and his arms were about Bellamy’s body, tearing at the buttons of his shirt, the fastenings of his breeches.

With one hand braced against the edge of the bed, Bellamy lowered his other hand to help Rab, but Rab caught his wrist.

“No, Master Bay,” he breathed, hot, wet, against Bellamy’s ear. He pressed Bellamy’s hand back against the edge of the bed, covered it, squeezed it against the furs. “Not until I say.”

“Rab,” Bellamy groaned half in protest, then hissed as Rab drew on his throat, teeth, lips, biting like a bastard. Bellamy could feel his heart thud in every inch of him, almost painfully so, and his hips jerked demandingly. He could feel Rab’s hands through his damp breeches, could feel them so close, but Rab was working blind at the buttons, taking his time, and - Bellamy whined, pressing back against him - doing it on purpose.

His breeches fell away so suddenly that the chill of the air made him gasp again, and he bucked with almost painful violence when Rab’s hand closer around him again. Rab had a worker’s hands, all rough and callused and squeezing, and Bellamy’s breath caught between as breath in and a gasp out.

The mouth on his throat moved too, and Bellamy heard the whine rise in pitch as his nape was caught between sharp, worrying teeth. He pushed against Rab’s hand, moaning aloud when Rab’s fingers tightened unbearably. His body was throbbing, every demmed inch of the thing, and Rab, Rab the bastard, was stopping him, keeping him still.

A hot lapping tongue curled from Bellamy’s collar up to his hairline, and Rab breathed hotly against the damp skin. “Soon, Master Bay,” he whispered. His hips nudged against Bellamy’s backside, and his free hand rustled under the bed.

“Wh-what are you…”

Rab distracted him by ravaging his ear with tongue, lips and teeth, then biting his way back down Bellamy’s throat. Their bodies were so close to touching and Bellamy could feel the whisper of Rab’s shirt brushing against his own. He pushed back, but Rab’s hips were just out of reach, not close enough, and Rab chuckled, low and dirty and made him quiver to his toes.

“Rab…” he pleaded, squirming against the merciless hand.

Rab’s other hand moved abruptly and Bellamy’s breath caught as his shirt was rucked up over his tailbone, baring his backside. He could not help but to pant, his fingers knotted in the furs on the bed, and he all but yelled out as something cool and slick trickled across his skin.

“What the…” He half-turned in complaint only to have his mouth thoroughly devoured, and only when he was breathless and half-dizzy from it did he feel Rab’s fingers smoothing the liquid down along the crease of his backside, and he understood, lipped at Rab’s lips, too dazed and wanting to do any more. 

“I wouldnae hurt you,” Rab whispered against his jaw, “no for the world.” The hand holding Bae fast loosened, only a little, Rab’s arm warm about him, and Bellamy arched with a whine as Rab pressed his finger deep. It was slow, and gentle, the next, less so, and Bellamy keened, kneading at the furs.

“Rab, damn you…” He felt the hoarse laugh against the nape of his neck, and Rab’s hand tightened, pulling on him, as his other hand pushed deeper. Bellamy moaned, his hands curling into fists, tugging at the furs. “Rab!”

A kiss was placed against his nape, and the hand at his backside slipped free, leaving him feeling empty, drawing a whine from his throat. 

“Patient, Master Bay,” Rab whispered against his neck. 

Then there was silence but for the crackle of the flames at the fireplace, and the soft creak of leather as Rab loosened his own breeches. 

Bellamy’s heart felt like it might surge through his breast in anticipation, his fingers flexing and curling against the bed and he shuddered violently at the warmth as Rab’s chest pressed flush to his back, crushing his shirt up between them.

When Rab rubbed against his backside, Bellamy breathed in so sharply his chest burned and he pressed back as much as Rab’s hand would allow.

“Are you sure?” Rab whispered close to his ear. “Shall I bugger you, you randy bastard?”

“Oh God, yes!” Bellamy moaned, pushing back demandingly. “No bloody gentleness!”

Rab nipped on his ear, then his shoulder, and his free hand pressed to Bellamy’s hip, holding him steady. “Right you are,” he murmured, then bit down hard on Bellamy’s neck as he thrust hard into Bellamy’s body.

Had Bellamy air, he might have screamed or sworn or yelled or a thousand other things. His hands jerked and grabbed at the furs and he whined low in his throat like a wounded animal, as Rab pushed deeper and deeper and, by God, deeper still.

For a moment, when Rab was buried in him as deep as he might go, they were perfectly still.

Bellamy whined, keening softly, pressing his brow to his fists in the furs, his chest heaving raggedly against Rab’s. Rab loosed his teeth from Bellamy’s neck, licking gently, and his hand stroked at Bellamy’s hip. 

“All right?” Rab breathed, nuzzling the nape of Bellamy’s neck, his hand dragging up Bellamy’s side, over his shoulder.

Bellamy nodded, breathing hard. He couldn’t have lifted his head if he had tried, and he moaned as Rab slowly moved his hips. “Lud, man,” he whispered. “You are a devilish big brute, what.”

Rab chuckled hoarsely, kissing the side of Bellamy’s neck, even as his hand rose to stroke soothingly through Bellamy’s hair. “Aye,” he whispered, nuzzling Bellamy’s jaw. “I thought to surprise you.” His fingers tangled in Bellamy’s curls, and he tilted Bellamy’s face to his, claiming a lazier kiss just as he rocked his hips again.

Bellamy groaned, kneading at the bedding. “No gentleness,” he reminded. “Do… do as you would.”

Rab kissed him again, plundering his mouth. “I am,” he breathed against Bellamy’s lips, as he began to move his hips over and over. 

The words would have been enough, but the pressure made Bellamy quite dizzy, the in, the out, the deep, pushing, throbbing press, and Rab’s hand was about him, squeezing and kneading and his mouth was doing delicious and teasing things to Bellamy’s throat, his jaw, his ear, his neck, and the damp shirt was rubbing between them, wet and heavy and by God, it was making his head spin.

He felt everything. His body was aflame with sensation. Rab’s fingers in his hair, the tongue curling against his ear, the teeth biting, the cock so deep in him that he and Rab were all but one person, the heat, his heartbeat, Rab’s heartbeat, their breath together, in and out and in and out, it was all one, all one, all together, and he could not think, could not fight, could not plead, could not breath, and all at once he was sobbing and his body thrashed out of his control and it was hot and dizzying and he would have fallen without Rab’s arms to hold him, catch him, and keep moving, moving, moving, dragging every little ebb of pleasure from him, until Rab too found his.

Bellamy’s breathing was still staggered. He could not have risen, not under his own strength, not for all the tea in China. His knees were scraped raw on the floor, his thighs trembled and ached, his arse was throbbing deliciously. No. He could not have gone anywhere.

Somehow, Rab had strength enough for both of them. He withdrew from Bellamy’s body, leaving them both stickier still, but looped an arm around Bellamy’s waist and with astonishing ease, tumbled them both up onto the fur-decked bed.

Bellamy leaned against his chest, then hesitated, fearing such intimacy might not be manly.

“You,” Rab murmured, dragging more furs from the foot of the bed to cover them both, then wrapped his arm around Bellamy’s waist, dragging him closer, “are a strange little bugger.”

Bellamy laughed nervously. “I have no notion what you mean,” he said, closed between the wall and the man.

Rab leaned up on one arm, looking down at him. “Ask me to fuck you,” he said, his head to one side, “and then look surprised when I take you to bed.” He leaned down and kissed Bellamy slowly, lazily, his tongue thrusting teasingly and making Bellamy’s exhausted body give off a flicker of want, already, again. “You know me, Bay. You’ve known me your whole life. Have you known me to take a lover?”

Bellamy stared at him, wide-eyed. “L-lover?”

Rab laughed and kissed him again. “You,” he repeated, “are a strange little bugger.” He pulled the furs up around them and wrapped an arm possessively around Bellamy’s waist. “Now, you look knackered. Get some sleep.”

Bellamy could only see the outline of the other man’s face by the firelight. “Rab?” he asked cautiously.

“Aye?”

“Are we lovers?”

Rab yawned into a laugh and nuzzled Bellamy’s ear. “Strange little bugger.”


End file.
